


Elephants Are Kindly (But They’re Dumb)

by ellerkay



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Depressed bruce, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, M/M, Masochistic Joker, darkish, sadistic Bruce, violence and sex all mixed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerkay/pseuds/ellerkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: NC-17<br/>Written for a challenge from <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-P"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://siriuslyyellow.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://siriuslyyellow.livejournal.com/"></a><b>siriuslyyellow</b>; parrot, peanut, parsley; “Precisely.”<br/>Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.<br/>Summary: The Joker meets Bruce Wayne at Cirque de Soleil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit dark and a bit cracky. I’m sorry about the ridiculous title, it fits in with a second part. Also, I have no idea why I hated on Cirque de Soleil so much. I’ve never even seen Cirque de Soleil. I’ve only heard it mocked a bunch of times. For all I know, it’s absolutely amazing. (Since writing this, I've heard great things!) It just seemed funny at the time. So, er, sorry about that, too.

Bruce sighed and scratched his nose. Charity, he reflected, was all well and good, but Cirque de Soleil was not his idea of a fun evening, even if the proceeds of his very expensive tickets were going to a good cause. He thought with some wistfulness of the circuses he used to go to when he was young. Bruce was slightly ashamed to be nostalgic for them; he knew now that they often exploited their workers and abused their animals. Still, there had been something magical about it then. He remembered that once, he had gotten to feed peanuts to an elephant. The animal had been so huge, but its trunk was soft as it took the nuts from his palm.

Bruce wished he could have convinced Alfred to come with him, but he had given some smartass answer in that British butler way that made it sound like he was being perfectly respectful. It had boiled down to the point that it wouldn’t be appropriate for a powerful billionaire playboy to take his butler to a charity event, but Bruce thought Alfred didn’t want to watch the show any more than he did.

The date he’d half-heartedly lined up had had to cancel at the last minute, in a flurry of apologies and innuendo that she’d really like a chance to make it up to him. Bruce was considering taking her up on it. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and he was willing to try anything to get rid of those dreams.

The lights dimmed. Bruce sighed, and sat back.

***

An hour and a half later, it was intermission. Bruce went to use the bathroom, as much to stretch his legs as for any biological need. He returned to his chair with still a few minutes to spare, and out of desperation, opened his program, which turned out to contain a rather interesting article about an upcoming play at the same theater. Engrossed, Bruce hardly noticed when someone sat down next to him, though, considering he’d paid for the seat, it shouldn’t have escaped his attention.

“Enjoying the show, _Mr._ Wayne?” drawled a nasal, oddly familiar voice. Bruce looked up, startled, into a pair of black eyes, also familiar, this time disturbingly so.

He wasn’t in makeup, but between the voice and the scars, there was no mistaking him. “Joker!” Bruce said, and as the other man’s eyes widened, Bruce realized with horror that he’d said the word in Batman’s growl, not his own voice.

The Joker’s eyebrows shot up and his fingers flew to his mouth in a parody of shock. The lights went down. “Oh, Mr. _Wayne_ ,” he said in a low voice, almost a moan. “I had _no idea_.”

He said it like a woman in a bad porno movie confronted with an unusually sizeable member. Bruce’s mind was racing, but he was coming up blank. He had a few concealed weapons, but not his suit, of course, and there were hundreds of innocent people around, and now the Joker _knew_? Well – maybe he didn’t know, maybe he still only suspected –

“What are you talking about?” Bruce tried to imbue into his voice as much fear as he thought a billionaire playboy who was still trying to hold on to his masculinity might express.

The Joker gave him a withering look. “Don’t play games with me, _Batman_ ,” he said, voice still low enough not to carry. “Games are my department. Don’t you know I know your voice? Don’t you know I think about it every night, dream of you while I-” Instinctively Bruce’s arm whipped out and grabbed the Joker’s. Bruce was glad he hadn’t latched onto his throat. He was usually observed at public events, and strangling the man next to him probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.

The Joker grinned. “Playing a little rough for the circus, don’t you think?” he said, as if he had read Bruce’s mind.

“Come with me,” Bruce said, and though he’d tried to suppress it, there was just a hint of the Batman growl in his voice. The Joker sniggered under his breath as Bruce, somehow utterly unable to think of a better option, marched him out of the theater and into the parking lot, where his limo was waiting.

“Drive anywhere,” Bruce said to the driver, who was utterly expressionless at the addition of another person, just as any highly paid servant to the very wealthy should be.

“Yes, sir,” he said. The Joker sat and looked around the interior of the car with an expression of mock admiration.

“Swank ve-hi-cle, Bruce,” he said, savoring each syllable as if he could taste it. “But aren’t you going to frisk me for weapons? I _wish_ you would.”

Bruce sat back against the red leather interior, about as far from the Joker as he could get. “I thought you didn’t want to kill me,” he said. “Did you change your mind?” Lit better than he’d been in the semidark theater, Bruce studied the Joker’s unpainted face. It was surprisingly handsome, despite the red masses of scar tissue on his cheeks.

“No, no, no, no, no. Especially not since this _wonderful_ little discovery.” The Joker stared at him with something akin to fondness, and somehow Bruce found this almost more disturbing than anything that had taken place so far that night. “And to think, all I wanted to do was kidnap Bruce Wayne and see what happened. I was going to tell you I had that theater rigged to blow, and that I wouldn’t blow it up if you went with me. But, I would let you go free if you wanted, and then I’d blow up the theater with everyone still inside. Not bad, hmm?”

The Joker looked expectantly at Bruce, who stared back, stony-faced. The Joker sighed.

“A little der-i-va-tive, I know. Mostly I just wanted to draw out the Batman. It must be my lucky night.” The Joker sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of utter joy and contentment, and the expression on his face was almost moony.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the weight of this stare. He tried to imagine a worse scenario than the one he was currently embroiled in, but came up blank. He couldn’t seem to access the power and anger he could find so easily when he was Batman. Instead, he felt tired and worried. How was the Joker so self-possessed without his makeup? Bruce watched him. He’d found the minibar and was rooting through it. He took out a jar of olives and popped one in his mouth, then replaced the jar. Rising as much as he could in the limo, he moved to a seat much nearer Bruce.

“Now tell me, Bruce – what are we going to do about this?” the Joker asked, in between chews. He swallowed the olive and Bruce found himself watching his Adam’s apple bob, in a sort of horrified fascination. “You won’t kill me – although you know, that would be the best way to solve this problem. Ex-pe-di-ent.” He leaned in close and put a sympathetic expression on his face, like a friend offering advice. Bruce shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He wouldn’t kill, least of all to protect himself. The Joker sat back.

“I thought so,” he said. “And you can’t hand me over to the police, because they would put me in court and you know that in court – you can’t _lie_.” He affected an expression of great innocence, somehow conveying the sense that if he was asked to testify in court, he would of course do his civic duty.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked finally.

"What do _I_ want?" the Joker parroted, and smiled. "I want so many things...a little house in the country, some gunpowder to blow it up with...oh, you meant, what do I want from _you_?" He regarded Bruce for a long moment, smile still playing about his lips. " _Well_ , I think I deserve some compensation for keeping your little secret, don't you?"

"You want money?"

The Joker looked disappointed, and shook his head. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. _No._ I thought you knew me better than that. I want something only _you_ can give me."

"Like what?"

"Um." He cleared his throat. "Head." Bruce jerked back away from the Joker, who grabbed his wrist deftly.

"Shshshshsh," he said, in what was probably intended as a soothing tone. "Now, don't go off all half- _cocked_. You may have misunderstood me. My language was admittedly im-pre- _cise_."

"What's to misunderstand?" Bruce growled, lots of Batman in his voice this time, and here comes the anger, thank God.

"I don't want you to give _me_ head," the Joker explained quickly, and Bruce stopped struggling, confused, the anger draining away again. The Joker's eyes trailed slowly down his body, and he smirked very slightly. "Well, I _want_ you to. But that's not what I'm asking." He moved onto the seat next to Bruce, without letting go of his arm. Slowly, cautiously, eyes trained on his face, he put his hand on Bruce's knee and slid it up his leg, stopping at his inner thigh. "I want _you_ to let _me_ , you know. _Blow_ you."

"How did you know-" Bruce stopped abruptly, heart pounding. He'd already given himself away once tonight, and now it looked like he'd done it again. The Joker looked intensely interested.

"Know _what_ , Bruce?" he asked. Bruce was silent. "Oh, you _have_ to tell me. Now we're such _good_ friends." Bruce still didn't say anything.

"Know _what_ , Bruce?" the Joker repeated. " _Tell_ me that you always secretly wanted me to say _just those words_ to you..." He was stroking Bruce's thigh (god help him, it almost felt good) and now his hand moved further up.

"No!" Bruce said loudly, jerking again violently with no real direction in mind, and as a consequence not going very far. The Joker raised his eyebrows.

"Then why don't you tell me, so I don't have to keep guessing?"

Bruce thought wildly, trying to come up with a plausible enough lie. What was wrong with him tonight? Had Cirque de Soleil melted his brain?

"Maybe you need some more motivation," the Joker said, pulling out a detonator. Bruce grabbed for it but the Joker held it out of his reach. With his thumb hovering millimeters over the button, Bruce was afraid to attack him further, worried he would depress it, purposefully or not.

"I think the people in that theater were _really_ enjoying the show," the Joker continued. "Maybe we should make sure it ends with a _bang_ , what do you think?"

"Give it to me," Bruce demanded.

"Finish your story," the Joker replied. "You said, 'How did you know -'" He looked expectantly at Bruce. His thumb moved a fraction closer to the button.

Bruce slumped back in his seat. How had he lost control of this situation so completely? _Don't kid yourself; you never had control of the situation, or of him. Ever,_ he thought. "About...my dreams," he said, in a low, defeated voice.

Bruce could swear the Joker's eyes were _sparkling_ with glee. "Oh, _Bruce_...what dreams?" He was leaning towards him again, though only slightly, still holding the detonator out of reach.

Bruce hated those dreams, and he couldn't think of them as anything but dreams no matter how many times he told himself, very firmly, that they were nightmares. Nightmares didn't feel so good, nightmares didn't make him wake up hard - or, worse, no longer hard.

"Dreams...about...you," Bruce said, through gritted teeth. "Where you're doing...what you proposed to me. Just now."

" _Blowing_ you."

"Yeah."

Awful as it was to remember those dreams anytime, it was much, much worse to think about them with their main character sitting next to him, especially as Bruce was now, unmasked, powerless. His face was hot with shame and, he realized with quickly mounting horror, not just shame. The memory of the dreams had him half-hard already.

The Joker _moaned_ and the sound went straight to Bruce's cock, making it still more interested in the proceedings. He shifted slightly and tried to talk some sense into it but was distracted when the Joker's hand landed heavily on his knee, sliding up his thigh again.

"Oh, Bruce," the Joker said, looking up at him from under his eyelashes, for all the world like a Victorian maiden. "This is the best night of my life."

"So," Bruce said, trying desperately to get some kind of handle on the course of events. "In exchange for keeping your silence about my identity, you want to be allowed to suck my cock." He forced himself to say it with perfect casualness, as if engaging in fellatio with your mortal enemy was an ordinary thing, something Bruce did every few weeks.

"Pre- _cise_ -ly," the Joker said, his eyes alight.

Bruce was silent for a moment, trying to ignore the promptings of his cock, which seemed to have no conception of the situation at all and was getting harder as the Joker kept stroking his thigh. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I'm a man of my word." Everything the Joker said sounded sarcastic. This didn't. Bruce looked into his face, which, for once, was utterly serious. His instinct was to believe him.

"You expect me to believe that?" he said. The Joker kept looking at him, his face still deadly serious.

"What if I sweeten the deal?" he said finally. He held up the detonator, grinning again now, which Bruce found strangely comforting. "I'll give you this, too. Then you can pretend you're doing it to save people, not your own ass, and not because you want to." Bruce grabbed the detonator and the Joker laughed triumphantly, sliding to his knees on the floor in front of Bruce.

Bruce's heart was pounding suddenly, and he tried not to calculate how much of it was fear and how much was arousal. He was aching. "What are you getting out of this?" he asked suddenly, without thinking. His voice wasn't as strong as he would have liked. The Joker looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"I mean," Bruce clarified. "It would make more sense the other way around. Uh...wouldn't it?" It occurred to Bruce that he should stop talking or he might convince him.

"Oh, _Bruce_ ," the Joker sighed. "You really don't understand things at all." He reached out and pressed his palm against Bruce's cock, and Bruce suppressed a gasp, hips jerking automatically at the friction. The Joker licked his lips.

"It's more than enough for me that you _want_ me to," he said. Bruce watched him, trying not to think too hard about this. Without the makeup, he could almost pretend...no, not really. The Joker unbuttoned the pants of the tux, then slid the zipper down slowly, almost reverently. He pulled down his pants and underwear a little, so that Bruce's cock sprang free.

He wrapped a hand around it and gave an experimental tug, seeming pleased when Bruce's hips jutted forward again. He looked up into his face and Bruce shut his eyes firmly, letting his head fall against the back of the seat. This was madness enough; he thought it might send him over the edge to watch.

The Joker kept his hand wrapped firmly around the base of Bruce's cock, and at the first touch of his tongue on the head Bruce bit back a moan. He remembered the dreams he'd had. There had never been much buildup that he could remember – they would be fighting and suddenly the Joker’s head was between his legs, the mop of green-blonde hair bobbing in front of him. He resisted the urge to open his eyes and see if it looked the same.

The Joker was licking him all over, laving his cock as if he were cleaning it. It was torture, and after a few minutes Bruce was breathing harshly. Finally the Joker slipped his lips over the tip and took him slowly, slowly down his throat. His mouth was hot, hotter than anything Bruce’s crazed subconscious had conveyed. A groan escaped Bruce’s lips, despite his best efforts, and the Joker moaned. The vibration made Bruce gasp, and he heard the sound of a zipper going down.

He opened his eyes; he couldn’t see much, but the Joker’s elbow was sticking out and he was vibrating now, and moaning as he stroked himself. As if he knew that Bruce had opened his eyes, the Joker opened his and raised them to his face. Bruce quickly shut his eyes again. The Joker dragged his tongue up the underside of his shaft, and Bruce shuddered.

Within a few minutes Bruce found himself incapable of keeping quiet, though he tried. The Joker was moaning continuously now and sucking him hard. Although he’d told himself he wouldn’t, Bruce growled and buried his fingers in the Joker’s hair, thrusting hard, fucking his mouth. The Joker groaned louder and squeezed Bruce’s thigh with his free hand, stroking himself faster. He gave a muffled cry and slowed. Bruce thrust a few more times and tried to stay silent, but a strangled noise escaped from the back of his throat as he came into the Joker’s hot mouth.

The Joker moaned again as he raised his head slowly and looked into Bruce’s eyes. He swallowed and licked his lips. “You taste _good_ ,” he said, as Bruce looked away and hastened to do up his pants.

“But you need a garnish,” the Joker continued thoughtfully. He pulled a sprig of parsley out of his pocket ( _why does he have that?_ ) and tucked it behind Bruce’s ear. He jumped up suddenly and straddled Bruce’s lap, then leaned in and kissed him long and slow, pressing him so hard against the headrest that their teeth clicked together. Bruce pressed back, unable to tell if he was returning the kiss or trying to push him away. The Joker tasted salty and bitter. Bruce had tasted himself in the mouths of lovers in the past, but it had never felt so awful, or been so arousing. He wondered how the Joker would taste if he had his makeup on, and immediately banished the thought.

The Joker pulled away and looked into his face for a second that felt much longer. Then he jumped off his lap.

“Be seeing you, _lover_ ,” he said, opened the door, and jumped out of the moving car. Bruce jumped to the door; it was grassy on the side of the road. He pounded on the glass separating his part of the car from the front seat.

“Pull over!” he said. They went back and forth over quite a few hundred yards, but though the country was open all around, there was no sign of the Joker.

***

Bruce crawled into his bed as soon as he got home, weary beyond measure. _Well_ , he thought, before he fell asleep, _maybe now the dreams – nightmares – will stop_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: It's All Happening At the Zoo  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Summary: Bruce won't come out to play, so the Joker draws him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is considerably darker than the last chapter, featuring a really masochistic Joker and a Batman who shows him the sadism he'd like (but, you know, conflicted about it, because Batman).

The dreams hadn't stopped.  
  
If anything, they had grown worse over the last few weeks. The harder Bruce tried not to think about what had happened, the more frequently the Joker haunted his sleeping brain. And the dreams were more intense now, with more details, scent and heat...  
  
Bruce had sent Alfred away. It had taken nearly a week of pleading and serious looks and in the end he had been afraid he wouldn't go at all. It didn't help that he couldn't tell him why he needed him to leave.  
  
How could he even begin to relate the story? His monumental stupidity throughout the entire night was almost as bad as what had happened in the end.  
  
"But Master Bruce, why hasn't he unmasked you? What are you going to do about it? What do you mean, you're sure he won't tell anyone? How can you be sure?" Bruce could see Alfred asking all these questions, and more, with perfect clarity. He could almost hear him.  
  
Alfred had tried to get him to say what was wrong, of course. He had needled subtly for days. A part of Bruce wanted to break down sobbing and confess, as he'd done on a few occasions when he'd been young. Alfred had always made him feel absolved, once he'd made amends. Bruce couldn't stand the thought that this time, he might not be able to. Worse, he might not want to.  
  
He didn’t go out; not as Bruce Wayne, not as Batman. If Alfred were still there, he knew, he would have made him do something. But he couldn’t seem to summon the energy or will. He brooded over the news, or over a book, or really anything in his path, and he did his best not to think about the Joker.  
  
Fortunately for his current hermetic tendencies, it had been a quiet few weeks, and the cell phone Gordon had finally talked him into for emergencies (disposable, he threw his out and mailed Gordon a new number every couple of days even if they didn’t use it) remained silent.  
  
Until, at last, it didn’t.  
  
***  
  
Bruce sighed at the blinking, buzzing phone, cleared his throat, and picked it up. “Gordon?” he said, in Batman’s growl. Gordon said a few things and Bruce started frowning. “At the zoo?” Another moment. “ _Who_ are his hostages?”  
  
***  
  
Gotham had gone through a great deal of trouble, and even greater expense, to finally acquire two giant pandas; a mating pair, or theoretically anyway. Zookeepers had been coaxing them to mate for some time now, without success.  
  
From the top of the penguin house, Bruce could see the Joker in the panda’s habitat nearby. Vaguely it occurred to him that Gotham Zoo was arranged oddly, but the thought fell out of his mind as he jumped down and snuck up to the edge of the panda habitat.  
  
The Joker was walking back and forth muttering to himself, waving a gun in the general direction of Sing Sing and I Ching. They were perhaps a dozen yards away from him and seemed entirely unconcerned with his presence. One appeared to be asleep, the other was munching thoughtfully on a leaf.  
  
“I can hear you,” the Joker called suddenly, almost in sing-song. Bruce froze, and the Joker giggled. “No…I can _feel_ you.” He leveled the gun at one of the pandas. “Show yourself, or the bear gets it.”  
  
Bruce rose slowly and entered the enclosure. “Isn’t this beneath even you?” he asked.  
  
The Joker laughed. “I was getting _des_ perate,” he said. “Look – listen – I’ve been reading this book. You haven’t called, or even dropped me an email, and I have to wonder; is it true? Are you just _not that into me_?”  
  
In a flash, Bruce punched the Joker hard in the stomach. With a whoop the Joker threw his gun to the side, pulled a knife out from somewhere and started slashing at him. Bruce punched him again, in the face this time, and the Joker reeled back, laughing hysterically.  
  
“Oh, yes!” he said, voice sounding slightly thick. “ _This_ is what I’ve been missing; oh, Bruce, I’ve been so _empty_ without you. Where have you been?”  
  
Bruce simply punched him in the stomach again, thankful that they were both in costume tonight. Everything was so much simpler like this. The Joker went down with the blow, wheezing and still giggling, and Bruce pinned him swiftly. “Have you been holed up in that big, dark house of yours? I thought about paying you a visit, but it seemed impo _lite_ , without an invitation. I almost sent you flowers. Would you have liked it, if I had?” The Joker was peering at him with faux-anxiety, and Bruce tried not to let his words throw him off.  
  
“What is this about, Joker?” he growled.  
  
“I thought it was obvious,” the Joker said. “I _missed_ you.” He licked his lips and Bruce fought the urge to jump off him.  
  
“You’re holding pandas hostage just to play a game with me?” Bruce demanded. The Joker giggled, and Bruce was horrified to realize the Joker was hard against his thigh. The Joker thrust against him and moaned, giving his usual twisted grin.  
  
“It’s not a game, _lover_. Or, well, maybe it is. It’s all games when you first start dating someone, isn’t it?” He was shifting underneath Bruce, trying to find a spot against him with better friction. Bruce pushed down harder, trying to keep him in place.  
  
“We’re not dating,” he growled. The Joker fluttered his eyelashes and – was he attempting to _pout_?  
  
“I thought you were different than the other guys. I thought that blowjob in the back of your limo _meant_ something to you. It was so… _in_ timate. Don’t you think?”  
  
“I’m taking you to jail, Joker,” Bruce said, trying desperately to keep this conversation on track.  
  
“The police will want to know everything I know,” the Joker said. He was shifting again and Bruce realized with a sick feeling that the feeling of the other man moving beneath him was arousing him. Those _stupid_ , awful dreams, it wasn’t his fault –  
  
“I don’t care what you tell the police,” Bruce said. “Tell them everything you know. I can’t let you go free.” The Joker stopped moving, much to Bruce’s relief, although he had to resist the urge to thrust forward at him. He wouldn’t have been able to feel anything through the armored plate at his groin anyway, but try telling that to his cock.  
  
The Joker was studying him curiously. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to go on if you couldn’t be Batman. You wouldn’t be _you_.”  
  
“What choice do I have?” The growl was slipping out of his voice; he was starting to feel vulnerable again, unmasked. Why did the Joker have this effect on him?  
  
“You could keep me prisoner yourself.” The Joker licked his lips. “Take me to your secret hideaway; where is it, beneath that _bea_ utiful house of yours?” Bruce made no reply, and the Joker grinned. “Knock me out before we go so I can’t guess where we are. And once we’ve arrived – and, pre-fer-ab-ly, I’m conscious again – you can do _anything_ you want to me.”  
  
Bruce couldn’t speak for a minute. Was he _considering_ this? No. “I’m taking you to the police,” he said firmly. “Making you my prisoner is no justice.”  
  
“But it would be so much _fun_ ,” the Joker moaned, and he thrust against Bruce’s leg again. Bruce forced himself to stay still, which was easy enough. He’d been holding the Joker down so long his muscles were cramping.  
  
“Well,” the Joker sighed. “If you won’t take me home with you, I’ll go quietly. And I won’t spill a _word_ to the police about your i-den-tity.” He licked his lips and Bruce’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
“ _If_ ,” the Joker continued, “you fuck me before we go.” He blinked up at Bruce with a lazy smile.  
  
Bruce was suddenly thankful for his cramped muscles; if they weren’t locked in place, he might have jumped off the Joker in horror. He let go one of the Joker’s wrists and punched him in the face; the Joker cackled and shoved Bruce off him. His reaction time slowed by the long minutes in such an awkward position, Bruce fell backwards and by the time he’d jumped to his feet, the Joker had grabbed his gun and had it leveled at the pandas again. He was still on the ground, and the gun was in his left hand, but Bruce hesitated. It looked like he was aiming in the right direction.  
  
“Do it for the _bears_ , Bruce,” the Joker said, his eyes boring into Bruce’s. Bruce felt a sudden rush of fury and he found himself vaulting towards the Joker, who tried to squeeze off a shot but Bruce had landed on top of him, forcing his wrist down. There was a sickening crack and the Joker cried out, dropping the gun.  
  
“That’s… _ow_ …more like it.” The Joker was giggling and Bruce punched him again, and again, and even through the blows and the broken wrist the Joker was still hard, trying to rub up against him. Bruce growled and kept hitting him, but the Joker wouldn’t stop laughing and smiling and licking his lips and trying to find friction against his leg and _laughing_ …Well, Bruce thought he knew one way to make the laughter stop.  
  
He pulled the Joker up by the front of his shirt. “On your knees,” he growled, and let him fall back down again. The Joker hit his head on the ground none-too-gently but still he scrambled up right away and arranged himself, on his knees but only one hand, the broken wrist held up against his chest. He was humming with pleasure and moaned when Bruce yanked his pants down unceremoniously. Bruce took off his gloves and released the groin plate on his armor. He pulled out of a little tube of Vaseline he kept on his belt (he’d thought it might come in handy sometime, had thought of a few different scenarios in which it might be useful; this hadn’t been one of them). He slicked his cock and, hand on the Joker’s hip, pulled him towards him.  
  
A dark, nasty impulse came over him as he positioned himself and he paused. “Put your hand down,” he said, and the voice that he heard was so angry he could hardly recognized it as his own.  
  
“Oh, _Bruce_ , you’re just like I _dreamed_ ,” the Joker said, and as he put it down Bruce thrust forward, pushing in and forcing the Joker to put weight on his wrist. The Joker screamed and then moaned, pushing back against Bruce, and Bruce found himself thrusting hard and fast, as hard as he could. The Joker’s good hand went to his cock and he stroked himself frantically, his moans about equal parts pain and pleasure.  
  
Bruce ignored this for a minute, but when he thought heard bones in the Joker’s wrist scraping together (did he imagine it?) he tore the Joker’s hand from his cock and put it on the ground. The Joker gave a frustrated grunt which was quickly followed by a gasp as Bruce wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked him roughly.  
  
The Joker bucked and twisted and Bruce had to squeeze his hip hard to keep the rhythm he wanted. After a few minutes the Joker cried out and came into his hand. Bruce, on the edge himself, thrust a few more times, and it was the pain in the Joker’s moans as much as the pleasure that made him come with a grunt.  
  
He started to collapse forward and then hastily moved back, remembering the Joker’s wrist. He pulled out and quickly reattached the bit of armor he’d taken off. His face burned with shame, not only because he’d fucked the Joker, but because of his cruelty towards him. What had possessed him to make him put weight on his injured wrist?  
  
Evidently, he had liked it. Somehow the thought wasn’t very comforting. Bruce looked down at the Joker, who had rolled over onto his back without bothering to pull his pants back up. He clutched his wrist to his chest, but except for that gesture, didn’t look like he was in any pain. He was grinning wide, eyes glittering in triumph.  
  
“ _Just_ what I wanted for Christmas,” the Joker said. Bruce decided not to point out that it was early September.  
  
“Pull up your pants,” he said. The Joker complied slowly, using only his good wrist. Bruce reached out a hand to help him to his feet.  
  
“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to take me prisoner?” the Joker asked, grinning.  
  
“You’re going to the police,” Bruce repeated firmly, as much to himself as the Joker. Horrible thoughts were flitting across his mind - _you might be able to rehabilitate him better than anyone at Arkham or in jail, if he can be rehabilitated…he obviously feels a connection to you…_ He pushed the thoughts away. “You said you’d go quietly.”  
  
“I’m a man of my word,” the Joker said dreamily. “Do we get to go in your car? I _like_ riding in cars with y–” Bruce pulled out a needle and stuck it in the Joker’s arm, depressing the plunger. The Joker stared at it for a moment in surprise. “That’s _cheating_ ,” he said, and started to crumple to the ground. Bruce caught him and, being careful of his wrist, gathered him up and carried him to the Batmobile.  
  
In the car, Bruce found the cell phone he used to call Gordon. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at the Joker, unconscious in the seat next to him. He punched in Gordon’s number.  
  
“I have something for you,” he growled, when Gordon picked up.  
  
In a few minutes he was driving fast towards police headquarters, resisting the urge to turn around and head to Wayne Manor. _There’s nothing you can do for him_ , he told himself. _Nothing except confirm everything he’s convinced himself is true about the world, and about you._  
  
***  
  
In the morning the Joker woke up alone in a jail cell. His wrist was bound, but it hurt, and that wasn’t the only part of him that was sore. He sat up slowly and started to make some plans.  
  
***  
  
In the morning Bruce woke up alone in the manor. For once, he wasn’t hard. He tried not to think about anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The titles are from the Simon & Garfunkel song "At the Zoo."


End file.
